He was hunkered over the steering wheel, brow furrowed. ‘Who was that guy you were talking to in the shop yesterday?’ he grunted. ‘The redhead at lunchtime.’

So that explained Kurt’s anger. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think he’s new to town.’

‘Making him feel welcome, were you? Having a nice little chat?’

Miki’s skin tightened. ‘He did the talking. I was only being polite.’

‘Forget polite. You should have called me. Why didn’t you?’

‘You were doing the books.’ Last week she’d been in trouble for disturbing him.

‘I don’t want you talking to scum, so don’t.’

He glared at her and she felt herself shrivel. Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms prickled. ‘I’ll call you next time,’ she promised.

She held her breath and waited. It could go one of two ways: either he would start shouting, or it would be suddenly over.

As the moments slid by, she realised he’d let it go.

They turned off the main road onto a gravel track that wound through regrowth forest crammed with tall, skinny saplings. Potholes jolted the car and, despite being locked in by her seatbelt, Miki had to cling on so she wasn’t bounced around. Trees hugged the edge of the track, impenetrably dense. She could imagine getting lost in forest like this: you might never find a way out.

They came to a patch of old-growth with towering trees. Here, the understorey opened out, and the forest was park-like and stately. Miki loved the tall swamp gums jutting into the sky. Tree ferns splayed their fronds. Pockets of beech were just beginning to turn golden—the only deciduous trees in the forest. Over the next few weeks, they would yellow up then drop their leaves. Autumn was definitely here.

Further into the forest, she wound her window right down and leaned out so she could see way up to the wedge-tailed eagles’ nest: a messy platform of sticks and bark woven onto a branch. Kurt said there weren’t many wedge-tails left in Tasmania, so this nest was special. Miki thought the birds magnificent with their proud heads and hooked beaks. The view from their tree must be amazing: the forest stretching all around, layered and complex, like life. Last spring, the eagles had raised a chick; Miki had seen its doddery head just above the lip of the nest, peering out at the world. The adult birds were wild and free, but the chick was like her, watching from its nest, unable to join in till its wings were fully grown.

Driving on through the forest, they came to another patch of old-growth, where broad tree trunks reached high and lost themselves among clouds.

‘These trees must be hundreds of years old,’ Miki said.

Kurt sniffed. ‘Only takes a few minutes to cut them down.’